


Heralds and Doctors

by Wanderbird



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: 10th Doctor - Freeform, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-06-06 01:39:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6732772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderbird/pseuds/Wanderbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The TARDIS explodes in transit, stranding the Doctor (10th) in another universe--a universe with horses that aren't horses and people that try to be more than people. And, of course, something that absolutely, positively is not a ghost, just a manifestation of high concentrations of psychic energy. Right?<br/>Soon afterward, Amy and Rory are inexplicably transported to join him, a strange Doctor with newly raging Gifts and an unfamiliar TARDIS.<br/>Transferred from Ffn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. She spins through time and space.

BANG!

The Doctor gave a little yelp of startlement as he fell forward into the TARDIS console. There was a sad little fizzling sound when it landed, sending up smoke into the main control room. The Doctor let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and shoved himself back up onto his feet. He pulled on his trench coat calmly and stepped outside. Somewhere new! A whole other universe judging by the difficulty the TARDIS had had when landing. The Doctor stepped out the door into a grassy, sunlit—ditch. His arms pinwheeled, trying to keep him balanced until his feet landed on the bottom of the muddy ditch with a splash. The Doctor caught himself with his hands on the edge of a well-trodden dirt road, stood up straight, and clambered out of the ditch with rather more dignity than when he'd fallen in, glancing around quickly to make sure no-one saw him.  
"Well then, where am I?"  
He took out his screwdriver, pointing it all around.  
"Hmm. Nowhere I've been before, that's for certain. Not much of anything I recognize, and rather a lot of psychic energy. Strange. Well, off we go. Allons-y!"  
With that, the Doctor sauntered off down the road.

The sun was high in the sky as Herald Terril sighed, shoving her grey hair out her face. All predictions pointed toward a nasty winter, but only so many provisions would be able to fit in the Waystation.  
Knock knock knock.  
"Milady Herald?" came the voice of the Drunken Bird's chief stableboy.  
"Come in, Brent." Terril answered, turning around in her chair. In walked Brent, a skinny, grubby boy with mousey brown hair followed by a stranger. The stranger had short, darker brown hair that stood up like a bunch of spikes, an incongruous grin on his face, and eyes that looked older than they had any right to be. He wore a long pale brown coat and what looked like a fitted, stripey blue shirt underneath it.  
"This bloke came in outta nowhere in a field north a' town," the boy scratched his head. "Says 'is name's the Doctor, don't know anythin' about what's goin' on."  
"Doesn't know anything, Brent. Good grammar is a great helper in being able to advance further in life. Thank you for bringing him to me."  
"You're welcome, milady Herald." With that, the teenager shut the door and headed off, presumably back to the inn.  
Terril rubbed her temples as she looked the man over. "Good afternoon, Doctor."  
The strange man gave an infectious grin. "Love me a good mystery. Good afternoon, Herald. What's your name?"  
"Doesn't matter to you," she answered shortly. "What's yours?"  
"Doctor."  
Terril gave him a long look, then sighed. "Whatever. What's your problem?"  
"Don't know, really." The Doctor replied. "What's yours?"  
"None at the moment! Why are you here?"  
He smiled again. "I have no idea why I'm here, or where 'here' is. That's what I'm trying to find out."  
The woman pinched the bridge of her nose. "You really have no idea? Kingdom? Town? Anything?"  
The Doctor shook his head and Terril pulled out an old piece of notepaper and a pencil.  
"Fine." She began drawing in quick, smooth lines. "This is Valdemar. This is Haven, in the middle, the capital city. We're to the north of that by a good ways, about halfway to Sorrows. Way up north here is the Forest of Sorrows which marks the northern edge of Valdemar. North of that is a bunch of wilderness and tribesmen. To the East of us is Iftel, which is neutral. To the southeast is Hardorn and to the south is Karse. We're currently neutral with Hardorn and in the middle of a war with Karse. To the southwest is Rethwellan and between those last two is Menmellith, which is a client state of Rethwellan. We have a pretty long-lasting treaty with both Rethwellan and Menmellith, so that's not a problem. On the west side of Valdemar is Lake Evendim and beyond that is the Pelagiris Forest, which is full of magic creatures and crazy stories. I would suggest not going there. Do you know what the uniform I'm wearing means?"  
"Is that why you're wearing all white?" the Doctor asked.  
"Yes. In Valdemar, at least, anyone wearing all white is a Herald, anyone in all green is a Healer, and anyone in all red is a Bard. We Heralds also have Companions that look like white horses with blue eyes but be aware that they're a lot more. Healers heal people, pretty self-explanatory. Bards do music. Heralds uphold and spread the law, give news, deliver important messages, lead troops, and pretty much do whatever they have to protect people who can't protect themselves and Valdemar in particular. Rethwellan, Hardorn, and Valdemar are each led by a Monarch. Rethwellan's monarch is chosen by a sword, ours have to be Heralds. Karse is ruled by a prophet, though I believe they technically have a king. No-one knows much of anything about Iftel. Understand?" Terril glanced up at the stranger.  
The Doctor seemed to look through her for a moment before nodding his comprehension.  
"The town is right beside the North Road. My advice is to take that south to Haven and talk to the Healers there if you're looking for help with this amnesia of yours. There are a couple of healing temples on the way there, but the Healers there are used to dealing with mostly just illness and physical wounds, but you appear well and uninjured. Tell the Healers down at Haven that Herald Terril sent you and you should be alright. Got it?"  
"Yes." The Doctor pursed his lips. "Forest of Sorrows? That's an unusual name."  
The Herald looked at him for a moment. "The last Herald-Mage died there about 200 years ago. Ever since, the forest has killed anyone who enters it with harmful intent. I was on circuit up there once. Strangest thing. There's not even always a visible cause of death, they just look terrified out of their wits. I'm certainly glad that whatever it is seems to be on our side, that's not how I'd care to die."  
The stranger paused for a moment, then grinned slowly. "I guess that's where I'm headed, then. Sounds like just the right kind of problem for me."  
Terril stared out the door for a minute after the Doctor left before going back to her work.

 

~~!~~

Amy ran through the rain, phone pressed to her ear, feet pounding on the sidewalk. "Rory! Why can't you come get me already?"  
"I'm in the middle of a doctor's appointment Amy!" came the voice on the phone.  
Amy pouted. "Fine. But don't blame me when I come down with pneumonia or whatever."  
"Oh—fine. Get inside somewhere, I'll pick you up when I'm done. Or take the bus already! I just wish we had a second car."  
"Oh, now you agree with me. Oi!" That last was to the world in general when Amy slipped on something that didn't feel like pavement, falling on her face. The phone beeped twice, ending the call. When she grabbed her phone again, Amy saw why. No reception. No reception? How was that possible? Her Raggedy Doctor had fixed her phone so that she had reception wherever she was. Literally wherever she was. Or whenever. So why didn't she have reception?  
Amy frowned at it, then stuck her phone into her jacket pocket, wiping mud off her face. She was somewhere else now. It was mid-morning, the sun was bright on the unfamiliar grass of wherever she was. Unfamiliar, wet grass. Amy stood up and brushed herself off. She was in a large, empty field. Amy wandered for a few minutes before she found what appeared to be a wide gravel road, packed and covered in the many footprints of humans, carts, and animals, but apparently no motor vehicles.  
"Okay then." She muttered to herself. "Pick a direction. Any direction."  
Amy began trudging north along the road.

There was a knock at Herald Terril's door.  
"Come in."  
It was the boy Brent again, looking nervous. This time he was accompanied by a red-haired girl, covered in mud and wearing a scarf and short leather jacket.  
"Dear gods. Another one?"

Amy crossed her arms uncertainly, staring at the woman in white. The stranger was rather wrinkled, with grey hair pulled back in a ponytail and a scar running down her cheek. She was dressed all in white with a high collar, bent over a pile of paperwork. The stranger pinched the bridge of her nose, looking Amy over.  
"So," the woman asked. "Who are you?"  
"Amy." She shifted her weight.  
"Amy what? Do you know?"  
"Amy Pond. Amelia Pond, well technically Amy Williams. I'm married."  
The woman in white raised an eyebrow. "And what do you think is going on? Do you know where you are? What I am? Anything?"  
"Ah—no. Sorry. What's going on?"  
The woman stood up, leaning over the desk. "My name is Terril. I'm a Herald. Do you know what that means, Amy Pond?"  
"Not exactly."  
"It means it's my job to do things like enforce the laws, spread news, and do what I can to protect people. It's a very special job, and those who fill it are Chosen by the Companions, who look like white horses with blue eyes. Trust me when I say they're much more than that. Heralds wear white, Healers wear green, and Bards wear red. Do you have any guesses as to each of their functions?" The Herald tilted her head.  
"Umm… Healers heal people, right? Like doctors? And Bards do music and stuff?" Amy hazarded.  
"Correct. Now, I have one question before I give you directions," continued the woman. "A few hours ago, a man calling himself the Doctor came through here. Are you with him?"

Rory looked at his phone in startlement when the call broke off. Huh. That was strange. Usually Amy's phone always worked—that's right, he realized, Amy's phone worked everywhere in the universe now. So why had the call broken off? She didn't hang up.  
"Oh, Amy…"

The interminable doctor's appointment had finally ended and Rory stood out in the rain, phone in hand. Once, twice, three times it rang—nothing. At last the phone reached someone, but the voice on the other end was not the one Rory had been expecting.  
"Rory? What is it? Talk quickly."  
"River?" Rory said in surprise.  
"His phone doesn't always work, so it went to me. What is it?"  
"Um. River. It's Amy. Her phone—it lost reception. It never does that!"  
"Rory!" River exclaimed. "You tried to call the Doctor for tech support?!"  
"No, of course not, it's just that he fixed her phone so that it has reception everywhere. As in everywhere, River, not just Earth. It can't logically have lost reception because it has reception everywhere in the universe. Tell me how this is possible."  
There was the sound of River sucking in a breath. "Then perhaps she isn't in this universe. And maybe the Doctor isn't either, which could be why the call went to me. If she isn't—Rory, did the Doctor go and get her?"  
"No!"  
River cursed. "Find her. Or him, either one. Something's happening, and it can't bode well—" River was cut off as the connection dropped.  
Rory flailed for one heart-stopping moment as the ground dropped out from under him, only to land on the ground in what appeared to be a rather dusty alley. The sun was high in the sky, almost at its zenith. It was sunny, not pouring. And the buildings all around him looked more like what he had seen in his 2000 years as a Roman than modern construction, built out of whitewashed stone. Rory struggled to his feet, wiping his hands on his pants. He picked up his phone. No reception. Rory breathed out, stuck it in his pocket, and took a closer look around.

"Milady Herald?" Herald Terril cursed inwardly, got up, and opened the door. Brent stood in the doorway looking apologetic, next to a scruffy man with short blondish hair and wearing a sweater.  
"Leave us, Brent." The young boy gave a sigh of relief and left.  
"Sorry, but have you seen my wife?" Rory asked.  
"Long red hair, brown eyes, scarf, covered in mud?"  
"Ah, yeah, that'd be her. Sorry."  
Terril sighed. "She headed north, following a man who introduced himself as "the Doctor". A few things you need to know before you leave: Anyone wearing all white is a Herald, we uphold the law and perform important legal, political, legislative, and practical tasks for the protection of the Kingdom and the people in it and really everyone who tries to make the world a better place. You can go to any Herald for help. Anyone in green is a Healer, which is fairly self-explanatory. Anyone in red is a Bard, anyone in blue is part of the Army or the Guard and they should also help you if you ask, as should the Healers. The road north is just east of town and I suggest taking a horse if you want to catch up to the others anytime soon. Give this note to the Guard at the stables in this building, he'll lend you a horse but you need to give back to the Guard when you catch up with your friends or I'll be sending people after you. What's your name?" Terril scribbled something on a piece of paper, then handed it to him.  
Rory blinked. "Um, Rory. Rory Williams. What's up north?"  
The Herald sighed. "The Forest of Sorrows." At Rory's look of incomprehension, she elaborated. "Creepy haunted forest that kills anyone with harmful or evil intent."  
"Oh."  
"No really, don't be afraid to ask help of any Guard, Herald, or Healer you meet if you really need the help. It's our job." She ran one hand through her hair. "Now feel free to leave, so I can finish my paperwork."  
"Oh, um, of course," Rory stuttered. He turned and left.

River Song stared at the phone for a moment, then gave it back to the prison guard.


	2. A Dance of Green and Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which it is unfortunate that our lovely Herald's Gift is Fetching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thank you for reading this far. I know this really isn't a very common pair of fandoms, but this is, like all fanfic, a labor of love, and this is a pairing that I love. :)

Amy leaned against the tree behind her grumpily. Rain was pouring out of the sky like the world was about to end, and it was bloody cold rain, too. Of course the Doctor had to go this way, so she had taken shelter under this tree when the downpour started. She only hoped her quarry had done the same.  
Amy heard hoofbeats on the road behind her and looked up. Rory was cantering slowly along the road, sitting easily atop a plain-looking brown horse. She stood hurriedly up and ran to the edge of the road, just in time for him to very nearly run her over, inciting a startled shriek. After a few paces, Rory managed to pull the horse to a stop and hop off.  
"Amy!" he yelled. "Never do that again! I almost killed you-" he was interrupted by a flying hug. The horse started backing away, but stopped soon enough while the couple hugged.  
"Rory," Amy said anxiously, "how did you get here? I've been going after the Doctor, there was a herald or whatever they're called back in the last town who told me he'd gone this way."  
"The Doctor's here? Oh good, he can get us out of here."  
"Only if we can catch him," Amy added with an infectious grin. "Wanna run?"  
Rory grinned back at her. "Always." He presented his hands to help Amy into the saddle, but his wife instead elected to take a very-nearly-flying leap onto the horse’s back, which luckily only snorted and backed up a step or two. Rory laughed and climbed on behind her on the saddle once she took her feet from the stirrups, leaving Amy half on his lap and half on the low pommel of the riding saddle. Within a few minutes, Amy was finally beginning to relax into the horse’s easy, rocking canter, tucked securely in front of her husband, despite riding rather too like a lump of flour for a very comfortable seat.

 The Doctor stumbled through the rain, head spinning. His hair was flattened against his skull, his temples pounding, and he couldn't feel his feet. This last was testified by their subsequent tripping in the mud, sending the Doctor flat on his face. Again. He picked himself back up and stumbled on. Once the headache that had been growing since his arrival had reached huge levels, the Doctor had decided to make a quick detour back to his TARDIS to see if he could figure out what was going on.  
Unfortunately, it had turned out not to be so quick a trip after all, given his current inability to move in a straight line. Finally, he fell into a ditch. A vaguely familiar ditch, given the earlier prints in the mud. Just above the edge of the ditch on the far side from the road was, yes, at last, a well-loved blue woodlike construction. The Doctor gasped in relief and fumbled his key into the lock, turned it. The door opened, offering sweet sanctuary- he fell over, cracking his head on the bottom of the TARDIS. The Doctor tried to clamber back to his feet, but darkness flooded into his mind in a rose of cold. He blacked out.

It had been over an hour, and the rain had stopped, but Amy and Rory had found no sign of the Doctor. At last, Rory got off the horse, handing the reins to Amy. Rory the Roman, they both knew, could track a person and now he was scanning the sides of the road.  
"You sure he went this way?" he asked doubtfully.  
"That's what the Herald said."  
At last Rory came to a bush. Fully half the branches were broken.  
"Well, somebody's been here, at least."  
A short ways on was a pine tree with a large, muddy handprint on the trunk. They proceeded in this fashion for a little while longer, still on the North Road. Off the side of the road, they eventually found a series of faint tracks, mostly washed away by the rain. Strangely, they staggered from side to side as if the owner were drunk and the pair found occasional handprints on rocks or trees or, sometimes, the ground. Finally they reached another road. On the opposite side was a ditch and, directly opposite the road, the TARDIS. Or at least, Amy thought it was the TARDIS. It was Rory who finally raised the comment that resided in both of their minds.  
"She looks awfully beat-up".  
“Smaller, too, and a different color blue." One hand reached out to grasp the other and the Ponds walked up to the stranger TARDIS.  
"The door's open." Amy glanced at her husband.  
There was a groan from underneath them and both Ponds jumped back. A man lay in the ditch, coated in mud over a pale brown trenchcoat, hair ruffled and dark brown, wearing a dark blue pinstriped jacket with a muted tie that was probably red under the dirt. His head was marked by a multitude of small cuts and bruises including a large bump on one temple. Clutched in the stranger's hand was a small silver key on a necklace and poking out of his pocket was- a small, silver sonic screwdriver with a blue end. The Ponds looked at each other as the stranger stirred.

 

It had stopped raining when the Doctor finally woke up on the hard floor of the TARDIS- wait a moment. That wasn't right, couldn't be right. He'd been knocked out in a ditch- he sat up with a start, only to see two strangers standing next to him. One had long, bright red hair, a leather jacket, and a scarf and the other short blondish hair and was wearing a sweater. The latter was also holding his screwdriver in one hand.  
"Who are you?" he demanded. "What happened? And you, nose boy, give me back my screwdriver. Now."  
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Not until you tell us who you are and where the Doctor is."  
"Wha?" he stuttered. "Well I guess you're in luck, I am the Doctor and oh, dear," he answered, "my headache's coming- " he blinked a few times, moving his mouth in silence and clutching at his head. Thoughts rushed into his brain, not his thoughts, other people's.  
 _:You're not the Doctor!:_ yelled a Scottish-sounding voice in his head.  
"You're not the Doctor. I know what the Doctor looks like," the woman replied flatly.  
"I know," he managed to gasp out, "I heard you the first time." The Doctor pulled himself up on the railing beside him and stood shakily. "But I am the Doctor, I should know. And you still haven't answered my question." he wheezed.  
Rory glanced back at Amy, then told him. "I'm Rory Williams and this is my wife, Amelia Pond."  
"Pond?" he asked. "Sounds like a name in a fairytale."  
Amy's hand rose to her mouth. Abruptly, the Doctor was overwhelmed by a rush of memories. A little redheaded Scottish girl, all alone in her house. The crack in her wall. The images made no since. A man with huge hair, a ridiculous chin, and _his shirt_ all shredded to bits, eating... fish fingers and custard? That must have been repulsive.  
"Fish fingers and custard," Amy exclaimed, "what about fish fingers and custard?"  
"What?" he asked vaguely, jerked out of the river of thought. "I don't know, it's your memory. I think."  
"You're reading my mind right now?"  
The Doctor winced. "I don't exactly know?"  
Fish fingers and custard, his mind screamed, a crack in her wall. The crack flashed through his brain again, a thousand times. Angels. A battle, soldiers in uniform lined up for battle. The woman again and again and her husband, Rory, his name was. Romans and Cleopatra- no. Her. River. The archaeologist. What? The Pandorica- but that was a legend! Daleks, and cybermen, and the TARDIS all shiny and new-looking and the man with the chin, in all of these pictures. A wedding, the woman's, and he had been... late? And Rory was... a Dalek?  
"You don't know?" The woman demanded incredulously. "You don't know if you're reading my mind?"  
"I haven't exactly done this before," the Doctor gasped, lunging for his screwdriver. The man- Rory, he remembered- moved it calmly away. He stood up straight again, dizzily, hearts pounding. He stared into Rory's eyes. "I am the Doctor, I swear to you, and you must have travelled with me. Now give me my screwdriver before something happens."  
"Fine."  
"Thank you."  
Rory dropped it into the Time Lord's hand, which closed firmly around it before the Doctor collapsed with another groan of pain. He scrabbled to put the screwdriver back in his pocket against the burning pain in his head and got another series of images, of 2000 long years of waiting, waiting in a world with no stars while Amy- that was her name. Right. She had said it earlier, or rather Rory had. He curled into a ball as the TARDIS made a sympathetic whooshing sound and stared fixedly at one of the round thingies on the wall.  
"I think I might need a little help."

 

There was another knock on the door. Herald Terril sighed, signing the last bit of paperwork for this stop on her circuit. Another few fortnights and she’d be home, assuming nothing went wrong.  
“What is it now, Brent?” She stood, leaning on the desk.  
Brent scratched his head. “It’s them again, milady Herald, all three of them.”  
“Them?” she asked wearily. “Which them?”  
“The three lostlings, milady Herald.”  
This time, Herald Terril cursed out loud, making Brent jump. “Where are they?” she demanded.  
“Just inside the inn, milady Herald. The one with the dark brown hair is in a real state, milady. Old Donnar doesn’t know what to do with them.”  
Herald Terril closed her eyes for a moment, sucking in a long breath. She straightened. “I’ll be there momentarily.” 

The door creaked open but went unheard amidst the chaos in the inn. There was the dark-haired man curled in fetal position in the corner of the room, coated thoroughly in mud. The woman and the blond man who claimed to be her husband were hunched beside him, conferring quietly. The rest of the inn had mostly gone back to its chattering, but was keeping an eye on the corner where the strangers sat. When the Herald strode in, confidence in every irritated muscle, the conversation died down. Terril made a bee-line for the strangers, crouching down beside the dark-haired man. She looked at the strangers. “Did either of you see what happened?” she asked briskly.  
Both strangers shook their heads. It was the redhead, Amy, who answered. “He was sprawled unconscious on the road when we found him.”  
Terril pursed her lips. “Injuries?”  
“Nothing but a few bruises,” the blond replied.  
 _Rorik? Rorin? No, it was Rory._ Terril raised an eyebrow.  
“His pulse was strong, both hearts working fine, breath slower than usual and he’s got nothing broken that I can tell without an—without outside help.” Rory concluded. “I may be a doctor, but I can’t seem to find anything seriously wrong.”  
“Both hearts?”  
“He’s not human,” he explained in a bit of a rush. “He’s a Time Lord from Gallifrey, mostly humanoid, but one of the differences is that he’s got two hearts. He can survive with one, but it makes breathing difficult.”  
Terril glanced sharply up at that. “Not human? I can’t afford to believe that without proof. Are you a Healer?”  
“Healer?” Rory asked. “I suppose you could call me that.”  
Terril felt around on the alleged Time Lord’s wrist. After a moment she felt a pulse. Two pulses, in fact, thumping in highly improbable time. Alright then. She stared at the half-conscious man for a moment. At last, she turned and scanned the room, apparently looking for someone. “Brent!” Terril called.  
The boy was beside her in a few moments.  
“Who’s the fastest rider here?”  
Brent paused in thought for a second. “Old man Riley’s girl, Lena. You gonna send fer a Healer, milady Herald?”  
“Yes, Brent. Can Lena be spared for now?”  
“I think so, milady. You want me to send her fer the Leafhaven Healing Temple?”  
“Yes, please do. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Brent, you should use it more often.” Herald Terril smiled.  
Brent blushed. “Actually, milady Herald, I dunno if you’d already thought about this, but wouldn’t it be faster for you to go? We can keep an eye on the strangers, even if they go all maudlin’. Unless yer Gift can help ye with this, ye said there bain’t any visible injuries, so ye may or may not do much good here anyway if ye stayed.”  
The Herald sighed. “I don’t like leaving them alone without supervision from someone medically trained. Are there any herbalists or anything in the village?”  
“Nay, milady Herald.”  
Rory spoke up. “I know I already said this, ma’am, but I’m a doctor. I’ll watch him.”  
She gave Rory a long look that seemed to measure his honesty with a ruler. “Fine.” Herald Terril stood up, took her long, slightly muddy white cloak from where she’d unconsciously dropped it, and twirled it heavily around her shoulders. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Keep him calm.” 

The rain continued to pound in time with Velira’s hooves as Terril focused on keeping her balance, standing in her stirrups to avoid being bounced around by the quick gait on the treacherously muddy road. A trickle of rain was dripping like frigid fingers down her neck from her short hair. The downpour obscured her vision in a blurry mass, but at least Velira could see reasonably well.  
 _:Almost there, darling.:_ came the Companion’s voice in her head.  
“Thank you, love.” It didn’t matter that no-one could hear a thing in this much with the splatter of their movements on the ground, Velira would read the words in her mind. “I wish I could Mindspeak so I could help that poor thing myself.”  
 _:You think that’s what it is?:  
_ “Please,” Terril retorted. “I’m from Rethwellan, remember? Gifts are still pretty common along the Comb, even on the Rethwellan side. Two siblings of mine and both parents were Mindspeakers, and my little sister’s Gift came on real sudden. I’m the one who Fetched a message to the house to tell our parents what happened. I’m pretty sure I can recognize the symptoms of a sudden onset of Mindspeech, though I’ve never seen one this severe before and certainly haven’t the skills to help.”  
 _:How come you have Fetching, then?:  
_ Terril snorted. “How should I know? I think my grandpa had it, but he never used it. We actually had to go all the way to the nearest mage school we trusted to lock mine under control.”  
 _:You know you could have come over the Border, love.:  
_ “Cross the Comb in a small group in the middle of winter with nothing that can pull a cart of supplies? Not a chance.”  
 _:True. I hadn't thought about that.:_ Velira's gait slowed to a leisurely canter, than a trot, as they reached the Temple. _:Hurry up, then,:_ she urged as she stopped.  
"Of course," Terril smiled, swinging off her Companion's back and dragging the now rather muddy-bottomed, sopping cloak with her. She walked up to the imposing, oiled spruce doorway.  
The door was opened a few moments after she finished knocking by a short, elderly man that looked as if he were made of dark brown wire and was wrapped in a heavy green woolen coat. The man's equally green eyes pierced into Terril's forehead before he spoke. "What's the problem, Herald? I thought you had already left Leafhaven."Terril nodded. "I have. A group of three strangers dressed like foreigners showed up on the doorstep of Wastekeep, a smaller town a couple hour's ride southwest of here that I was just finishing my stop at."  
"So? Travelers are nothing out of the ordinary." The Healer raised an eyebrow.  
"These ones are. None of them have the faintest clue where or when they are. I sent them on their way to Haven with some supplies and directions, but the first one to come through, who called himself 'the Doctor' as if it were a name, he appears to be suffering the reactions of a strong Mindspeech gift being very suddenly awakened. The other two found him and dragged him back here."  
"So?" the old Healer prompted. "You're a Herald, teach him to shield."  
"My Gift is Fetching, and I've barely got enough Mindspeech to hear my Companion. That's why I came here." Terril glared at the man.  
His eyes twinkled. "I'm afraid I'm the only Healer present with any communication Gifts. Unfortunately, it's mostly Empathy, but I can probably help. Is there any other reason you need me or shall I grab my bag now?"  
Terril let out an involuntarily breath of relief. "He has unusual... biology and the reaction is stronger than anything I've seen. There may be something else wrong, but I can't really tell. Go get your bag."  
The old man nodded briskly, stepping inside for a moment. By the time he came back out, he was swathed in a thick green cloak with fur-lined hood over the coat and held a mid-sized wood box wrapped in oiled canvas under one arm.  
"Can you ride?" asked the Herald.  
"On a Companion? With the best of them."  
After a few seconds, Terril had buckled the pillion pad to the saddle and boosted the old Healer into the saddle. As soon as she was also settled, the old man wrapped cold, thin arms around her waist and signaled his readiness. Velira sprang into motion, hurrying straight into the long, fast lope that allowed Companions to devour distance faster than any other equine. 

Within a couple of candlemarks, the three arrived, dismounting only once Velira stood still. The Healer made his way into the inn with unexpected speed. “By the way, Herald, my name is Loridir. Physical injuries?”  
Terril blinked at the abrupt change of subject, following with quick steps. “Nothing serious that I could see, possible internal damage. Bruises, mostly.”  
Healer Loridir nodded brusquely to himself. “And what did you mean by unusual biology?”  
Terril licked her lips. “Check for yourself. You’d think me insane.”  
The Healer snorted. “Unlikely.” He dropped to his knees beside where the stranger was still curled in the corner, eyes screwed shut, sweat dripping from his brow. “Mindspeech, eh?”  
Rory gave the Healer a wondering look, then glanced at Terril, who sighed.  
“Let the Healer take a look at your friend there, Rory, Amy. He knows what he’s doing.”  
“That I do,” replied Healer Loridir absently before addressing the stranger. “Can you open your eyes? Look at me.”  
The Doctor winced and complied with the gentle voice’s request. Light and smoke flooded his vision for a moment before he managed to focus on the owner of the voice, a tough, wiry-looking old dark-skinned human in bright green from head to toe.  
“I’m going to touch your hand in a moment, alright,” the man said, “and it might feel a bit funny because I’m going to be looking into your head. I’m going to impose some basic shields on you, since you seem to have no natural ones, and I promise not to look at your memories or your thoughts if I can avoid it, eh?”  
Look inside his head? But that was impossible without proper equipment! And—no, that would be a bad idea, to let a human see all his memories, all his experience—  
“Peace, stranger,” soothed the man in green. “I told you, I will not look any further than I must. Your Gift is newly and suddenly awakened, and strong. My own Gifts are primarily Healing and Empathy, but even my pitiful Mindspeech was sufficient to hear that last thought. I have to put shields on you, or you will continue to be this open to anything that comes along and what’s more, you will have to get training to put your own shields up. Allow me to do my job.” The old man put a feather-light touch on the inside of the Doctor’s palm, maintaining eye contact.  
The voices went away, and the images, all of a sudden. The Doctor felt something like walls spring up between himself and the outside wall.  
“There, all done with the shields.” The old man smiled. “Now I’m going to go a little deeper, and make sure you have no serious physical hurts, alright?”  
When the Doctor uttered faint noises of protest from a remarkably dry and uncooperative throat, the man chuckled.  
“Oh, don’t worry about keeping your thoughts private. A Healing meld is on a deeper level than a Mindspeaking one, and all I can learn from it about you is your physical health. Alright?” Slowly, a strange warm feeling filled him. It felt rather like the healing work of the nanogenes from World War Two London in Captain Jack’s ship.  
The man kneeling across from him had closed his eyes and was biting his lip in concentration, deepening the lines on his face. The man’s eyes abruptly flew open and his mouth sagged slightly in startlement.  
“I thought so,” came a woman’s voice from outside the Doctor’s line of sight. He turned his head slightly, recognizing the speaker as Herald Terril as she stood anxiously beside him, arms folded, lips tight.  
“Well then,” the man in green grinned, revealing two rows of partially yellowed teeth. “It seems you have managed to surprise me! I don’t believe there’s anything wrong, but that verdict could well be incorrect given your truly fascinating physiology. I am Healer Loridir. What can I call you?”

The Doctor smiled, ease finally returning now that the shouting in his mind had all but disappeared. “I’m the Doctor,” he said, “and I have no doubts that you will all prove as fascinating to me as I apparently do to you.”


End file.
